


well, that's a real fine place to start

by mischief7manager



Series: but for now let's all pretend [6]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Families of Choice, Gen, M/M, Pansexual Character, pansexual male character, pansexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:39:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6119591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischief7manager/pseuds/mischief7manager
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Scanlan, he’s an easy-to please guy. Whether someone’s one gender or another, what they’re packing in their pants, he doesn’t much care. So long as they’re hot and they’re down to party, they’ll have a grand old time, and that’s a Shorthalt guarantee. "</p>
<p>A character study.</p>
            </blockquote>





	well, that's a real fine place to start

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I have so much trouble writing gnomes, but here we are. Title from "I Write the Songs" by Barry Manilow, used by Sam Riegel on his Scanlan character playlist. Spoilers through episode 42. 
> 
> Content warning: the first section contains brief references to forced prostitution and mistreatment of sex workers. I've tried to handle it respectfully, since I didn't want to just gloss over the canon references to brothels and such, but just be aware.

     Scanlan sometimes wonders how anybody other than him ever gets laid. Well, him and Grog, but everyone else seems to have all these bizarre hangups when it comes to where and how and with whom they do the nasty. What gender they are, and what bits they have, and what, if any, overlap that has with people’s  _ feelings _ . Scanlan, he’s an easy-to please guy. Whether someone’s one gender or another, what they’re packing in their pants, he doesn’t much care. So long as they’re hot and they’re down to party, they’ll have a grand old time, and that’s a Shorthalt guarantee. He pays the workers at the... establishments he frequents a good sum for their excellent services, and he makes sure that the employees want to be there and are treated well. 

     Still, you can’t run in his kind of circles without hearing horror stories about places that are less discerning, where the workers have little say in what they’re made to do, and even less in how they’re treated while they do it. Scanlan looks forward to the day the party encounters such a place with a sort of grim anticipation. He’s never seen Grog rage in a brothel before. It’s sure to be a memorable experience. 

 

* * *

 

     He doesn't tell anyone, but sometimes Scanlan really misses playing with Dranzel’s troupe.

     It was a simple time: nothing to occupy him but song, drink, and pleasurable company. The only fights were over unpaid bar tabs or artistic disagreements. No dragons fucking things up, no pesky moral compass rearing its head to say “Hey, maybe you should help out all of these terrified witless people at great potential detriment to yourself!” Just the band and the open road. Ever since he joined up with the SHITs, he’s started developing a  _ conscience _ , for god’s sake. He’s done things just because they’re  _ the right thing to do _ . 

     It’s a good thing their adventures also involve lots of looting and maiming, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to look at himself in a mirror anymore. Scanlan Shorthalt, acting out of the goodness of his heart. Can you imagine?

 

* * *

 

     Pike leaves. It hurts more than he expected.

     Look, Scanlan’s not an idiot. He figured out pretty early on that this thing with Pike wasn’t going to go anywhere. He makes a point of being able to tell when a lady’s preferences run more toward her own kind than his, and while Pike hasn’t done any romancing as long as he’s known her, well. He can tell. So he knows he’s barking up the wrong tree when it comes to romance, but honestly? It’s kind of nice, being able to flirt with someone and have no expectations. As long as he’s flirting with Pike, he’s not flirting with anyone who might actually turn him down. Or worse, take him up on it.

     And he does care for Pike, really. He cracks jokes about them sharing a gnome bond, but it’s nice to have someone else who understands being half the size of the rest of the world. When she leaves, he loses that connection, and yeah, it pretty much sucks. It sucks even more when she comes back and  _ nobody bothers to tell him _ . The flirting’s mostly a joke at this point, but come on. Not one of his friends cared enough to wingman for him? That stings. It really does. 

 

* * *

 

     Kaylie changes everything.

     Not just her existence, but what she tells him, what it means. Lying in bed that night, Scanlan finds himself going back over his past exploits in his mind, and he’s overcome with a wave of… regret? Not for the sex, he’ll never regret that, but Kaylie’s descriptions of her mother made him realize that he wasn’t always upfront with the people he slept with. It’s one thing to have a one night stand with someone and never see them again, if that’s what everybody knows is happening and wants to happen, but Sybil obviously wanted more from him. And instead of being honest with her, he ran as soon as he got the chance. Had there been others like Sybil, people he took advantage of without knowing or meaning to, out of ignorance or cowardice?

     If Pike had said yes to him early on, before they were Vox Machina, would he have done the same to her? 

     He lays awake for a long time. 

 

* * *

 

     Leaving Grayskull Keep is harder than he thought it would be. 

     Without getting too sentimental, he’s spent most of his life on the road. On his own, with Dranzel, most recently with his friends. When you live like that for long enough, you forget what it’s like to put trust in places. You can’t think ahead, at least not further ahead than the next job. Staying alive was more than enough to keep him occupied, and when it wasn’t, well. He had the pursuit of song, drink, and pleasurable company. He’d learned early on not to expect more than that.

     But then they got a keep. Scanlan Shorthalt and company, bona fide heroes, with the Council seats and the Keep to prove it. And as much effort as he put into the being the snarky, unaffected one, Scanlan really started to feel at home there. Hell, he commissioned a painting for the dining room and everything! And just,  _ just _ when he’d settled in and gotten everything the way he liked it, it all fell apart. He should have learned, he knew, he shouldn’t have gotten attached, but he couldn’t help it. The keep was proof that they were  _ there _ , that they’d done some real, provable good. For one shining moment, they really were heroes.

     So yeah, he shits on the bed. Because fuck the dragons. 

* * *

 

     Whitestone is looking better, which is, frankly, depressing. Oh, sure, it’s great that they’re rebuilding, the triumph of good over evil, blah, blah, blah, but all it really does it remind everyone how deep Emon is buried in shit at the moment. The town that spent five years under the rule of a pair of maniacal undead magic users is doing better than where they just came from. Unsurprisingly, nobody is in a particularly cheerful mood for the rest of the day after their arrival. 

     Scanlan heads off to find Pike, thinking if nothing else, he can be an extra set of hands to help her get the injured they brought with them settled. However, it seems he’s not alone in this idea, as he makes his way to the newly set up infirmary only to find both Grog and Vax hovering over Pike as she works. He’s just set foot in the door when Pike sighs heavily and turns away from the patient she’s treating, planting her hands firmly on her hips as she inspects the sheepish pair in front of her. “Look,” she says, in the tone she uses when she means  _ business _ , “I appreciate the help, really. I do, and I’m sorry, but both of you-” she catches sight of Scanlan in the doorway and throws her hands up, “-all three of you, need to find something to do that isn’t getting in my way.” She makes a shooing motion with her hands, and ushers them from the room. “Out, all of you. If I need anything, I’ll track you down, I promise, but out!” Gnome, half-elf, and goliath are swiftly herded into the stone hallway and the door is shut firmly behind them. 

     Scanlan sticks his hands in his pockets and turns to the other two. “Drink? Anybody? I could certainly use one.”

     They exchange a wary look. They haven’t talked about what happened in the workshop, any of them, mostly because they’ve had bigger fish to fry, and Scanlan takes a quick moment to hope that these two can sort their shit before too long. Inter-party conflict may be entertaining, but at the end of the day, they still have four fuckoff dragons to kill. Can’t do that if they’re killing each other. 

      Grog is the first to break the silence. “Yeah,” he says, turning back to Scanlan. “Yeah, alright.”

     And that’s how Scanlan, Vax, and Grog end up in one of Whitestone Castle’s many abandoned sitting rooms, putting a serious hurting on the cask of ale from the bag of holding. The room is stuffy, badly in need of airing out, and there’s some stains on some of the upholstery that he’s deliberately not thinking about too hard, but they’ve all gotten shitfaced in worse places. Grog puts the cask of ale in a corner, with he and Scanlan sitting against the wall on one side of it, Vax on the other. They drink in silence for a while, legs stretched out in front of them, taking in this first real breather since the night of Uriel’s announcement. 

     Finally, Scanlan sighs. “So,” he says.

     Vax huff. “So.”

     Scanlan drains the last of the ale from his cup. Grog takes it and fills it again, passing it back wordlessly. He takes a long gulp. “Dragons, huh.”

     Grog nods. “Seems that way.” 

     Scanlan rests his head against the stone and closes his eyes. “So, we’re pretty much fucked, aren’t we? I mean-” he rolls his head to the side to peer up at Grog. “I almost got filleted by the last dragon we fought, and that was  _ one _ .” He holds up a single finger to illustrate. “And he was like half the size of these fuckers.”

     “What are we supposed to do?” That’s Vax. There’s something in his voice that makes Scanlan pause. It’s not resigned, exactly, not quite hopeless, but- “Let them keep burning and freezing and whatever the fuck else they do until there’s nothing left?” He takes another swig of ale. 

     Grog and Scanlan exchange a glance. It’s no secret that have the, shall we say, most flexible morals of the team, which is a big reason both of them have survived this long. Scanlan wonders, though, how far the others really think he’s willing to go to save his own skin. 

     (Pretty far. He’s no Vax. But still.) 

     “We’ll need a plan, then,” he says finally. “A good one.” 

     “I still think the spy thing would’ve worked,” Grog grumbles. 

     “Yeah, no, still fuck that plan,” Scanlan says, and Vax snorts into his cup. It’s not quite a laugh, but Scanlan thinks it’s getting there. He smiles as he takes another sip. 

     Somebody’s got to keep things from getting too gloom and doom around here. He may be small and squishy and kind of shit at fighting, but hey. He can still make people laugh. He gets the feeling, in the days to come, they’re all going to need it. 

**Author's Note:**

> One more to go. Stay tuned.


End file.
